CHAPTER 106: THE PURPLE MAN’S FOLLY

Inside Aeon Biotech, just outside the canteen, the air grew heavy.

Ethan Carter stood like a pillar of wrath, one hand clamped around the throat of a man with faintly purple skin. His grip was unrelenting, each second choking the air from Killgrave’s lungs.

Susan, Yuriko, Chloé, and the other mutants who had arrived with the stranger remained frozen, their faces disturbingly blank, eyes unfocused. It was as though their will had been ripped from them.

Ethan’s eyes began to glow. A pulse of light, pale and shimmering like a wave of heat, rippled outward from his body. It washed over the still figures, and one by one, they gasped and blinked as though waking from a trance.

Susan clutched her head, shaking it slightly before looking at Ethan in confusion. "Ethan... what just happened? The moment this man spoke, I—I couldn’t think. I couldn’t move. It was like my mind wasn’t mine anymore. Is he a telepath?"

Before Ethan could answer, Yuriko lowered her head, shame heavy in her voice. "I’m sorry, boss. I was under his control. My body moved, my mind... obeyed, and I couldn’t fight it." Her fists trembled at her sides, metal claws itching to strike at something, anything. "After Jean gave me another chance, after you trusted me—I swore I’d never be someone’s puppet again. And yet... here I am."

Ethan’s gaze did not leave the struggling man in his grip. His voice was calm, but his glowing eyes betrayed his growing fury. "It’s not telepathy, so don’t overthink it. This isn’t your fault."

Killgrave’s lips turned blue as he clawed weakly at Ethan’s hand, but Ethan did not loosen his hold.

Behind them, Chloé’s eyes shimmered with tears. Her voice trembled, breaking as she forced the words out. "I... I’m sorry, sir. I met him outside yesterday. He asked me to lead him into the company today and I... I couldn’t resist. That night, he—he used me. He made me..." Her voice shattered, the rest lost to choked sobs.

Susan immediately stepped to her, wrapping her arms protectively around the younger woman. Chloé buried her face against Susan’s shoulder and cried, the sound small but raw.

Ethan’s white, glowing eyes narrowed, his expression hardening. He didn’t need to hear the rest.

From the corner, one of the mutants who had come with Killgrave found the courage to speak, his voice hollow. "He made us do terrible things. Things we didn’t want. We couldn’t stop him."

Around them, Aeon Biotech employees had gathered, drawn by the noise. They stood at the edge of the corridor, whispering fearfully. To them, it was a reminder of how dangerous the world could be—how fragile freedom became when power was abused. Not everyone was like their boss, who wielded his gifts for the good of mankind.

Ethan turned to Yuriko, his voice quiet but firm. "Take the young ones somewhere safe. Let them breathe. Let them think. They need time after this."

Yuriko bowed her head. "Yes, boss." She guided the shaken mutants away and the employees stepping in to help. They moved with compassion—loyal, kind, and unshaken in their duty. Ethan had chosen them well.

After hearing Chloé’s broken confession, none of them felt the need to dwell on Kilgrave any longer. They trusted Ethan—after this, they knew he would deal with him.

Only then did he finally shifted his gaze back to Killgrave. His anger deepened as he brushed against the man’s thoughts, reading the filth that lived inside him—the things he had done to Chloé, the unspeakable plans he had for Susan if his control had lasted on her and even his other women if he got the chance.

Ethan’s lip curled. His patience ended. With a flick of his hand, he tore open a jagged shard of shimmering glass—a doorway to the Mirror Dimension. Without a word, he hurled Killgrave through it and stepped in after him.

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**Mirror dimension**

The world around them fractured into reflective panels, endless duplicates of reality stretching outward like broken crystal. Here, there was no escape.

Killgrave stumbled, coughing violently, finally able to drag in a breath. He looked around, panic flashing in his purpled features as he realized he was cut off from everything—and everyone—he could manipulate.

"You... you don’t understand," he turned back and stammered, trying to mask fear with oily charm. "We can work together. I can give you anything. Money. Influence. Women. The world. Think of it! You and me—control, power, everything you’ve ever wanted—I can give you—"

He began crawling backward on hands and knees as Ethan advanced, each step echoing like a hammer striking glass.

Ethan’s hand lifted lazily, and Killgrave’s body rose into the air, invisible force clamping around his throat. He gagged, feet kicking uselessly above the mirrored floor.

"You’ve got some nerve," Ethan said, voice low, each word vibrating with restrained fury. "You come into my place. You touch the people I care about. And then you dare to bargain?"

Killgrave tried to plead, but only a croak came out. Ethan’s eyes flared.

"Silence."

His voice cut like a commandment, and Killgrave’s words died in his throat.

Ethan tilted his head slightly, studying the man like a scientist examining a failed experiment. "I don’t even want to kill trash like you."

For a fleeting second, relief flickered across Killgrave’s face. Perhaps he could survive this after all. ’If he won’t kill me... I can still escape. I can still—’

But then Ethan’s eyes changed—white light deepening with a red iris forming at their centers. The mirrored dimension trembled with the surge of cosmic energy.

"But I can promise you this," Ethan continued, his voice now edged with something primal. "By the time I’m finished with you, you’ll beg me for death. You wanted power? You craved control? Then let’s see how you enjoy being on the other end of it."

Killgrave’s eyes widened in pure horror as Ethan pressed his palm against his head. Energy coursed through, stripping away the pheromone-born gift he had abused all his life. In its place, Ethan left a different ability—speed, blinding speed. But shackled to it was a curse: eternal servitude.

Killgrave collapsed, trembling, when Ethan finally released him. The villain’s relief was short-lived. Ethan leaned closer, whispering something only Killgrave could hear. Whatever the words were, they made him soil himself in terror.

And that was only the beginning.

For the next two years, the world would come to know Killgrave not as a menace but as a global humiliation. Forced by Ethan’s will, he became a living spectacle.

He was seen streaking naked across busy intersections, dancing under news cameras, disrupting live broadcasts. At a mayor’s press conference, he appeared in nothing but his underwear, urinating on the podium before vanishing in a purple blur.

At a championship football game, he stopped the ball mid-kick with his most indecent part, wiggled his hips before thousands, and disappeared into the night.

The madness grew worse. He ate filth, humiliated himself in the streets, degraded his every moment of existence—all under Ethan’s command.

Kilgrave’s reign of horror wasn’t confined to a single country; his shadow stretched across the globe, twisting lives in ways so vile they seemed beyond imagination. He had become the very embodiment of disgrace to the human race.

Yet Ethan ensured that his punishment would be worse than death—he branded Kilgrave with a perfect, photographic memory, forcing him to relive every atrocity he committed in crystal-clear detail, as if every moment of his life played back in merciless 8K clarity.

The name Killgrave echoed across nations, not with fear, but with disgust and ridicule. Eggs and tomatoes followed him wherever he went. He stank of filth, forbidden even the dignity of cleansing himself. His life became a prison of mockery, an endless nightmare from which death itself offered no escape.

Killgrave was broken, hollow-eyed, living in filth. He longed for death, begged for it, tried countless times to end himself. But fate—Ethan—would not allow it.

Finally, one night, in the hushed stillness of an abandoned animal farm, Killgrave held a sharp shard of metal to his chest. His hollow eyes glistened with desperate hope as he plunged it into himself, he finally managed it. Managed to take control of his body for few seconds and hoped this nightmare would end.

Darkness swallowed him—

—only for his eyes to snap open.

He blinked his eyes, only to find Ethan standing over him, calm, cold, and unshakable.

"That was a nice dream," Ethan said softly. "A good test run."

Killgrave’s blood ran cold.

Ethan said with chilling finality, "Now—" his eyes glowed once more, casting long shadows across the broken man’s face—"let’s move on to the real deal."

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**Unknown location**

The chamber was cloaked in darkness, save for the faint golden glow of chandeliers swaying above a long oak table. The walls were lined with velvet curtains, muffling the sounds of the city beyond. Here, in this hidden place, three men spoke of secrets that could fracture the world.

Wilson Fisk—better known as the Kingpin—sat with the poise of a monarch, his massive frame dwarfing the leather chair. A glass of red wine glistened in his hand, catching the dim light as he swirled it lazily.

Across from him, Norman Osborn shifted impatiently, his sharp eyes betraying his unease.

And between them, at the far end of the table, sat Dreykov—his presence quiet, his gaze cold, his voice measured.

Fisk broke the silence, "So, Dreykov... how much progress have we made?"

Osborn leaned forward sharply, fingers drumming on the table. "Progress?" His voice cracked with irritation. "We’ve been waiting too long. After what Ethan Carter displayed at that damn expo, do you really think we have time to waste? If he finds out we’re planning to rob him—"

Fisk chuckled, the sound low and cruel, as he lifted his wine glass. "You’re such a hypocrite, Norman. All this was your idea, and now you sit here quivering like a child. Cold feet already?"

"I’m cautious," Norman snapped back, jaw tightening. "Caution is the difference between victory and a bullet in the head."

"You should’ve thought of that before dragging us into this," Fisk growled, slamming his glass down with a thud. "It’s already in motion. There’s no backing out now."

Osborn bit his tongue, fury flickering in his eyes, but Dreykov’s calm voice sliced through the tension. "Gentlemen... let us not waste energy fighting amongst ourselves. We share the same goal."

Silence fell. Even Fisk leaned back in his chair, lips curling in reluctant amusement.

Dreykov folded his hands. "Carter’s power is... concerning. What we’ve seen may not even be his full capacity. If he was holding back before, then he may still be holding back now."

Norman’s eyes narrowed. "You’re suggesting we’ve only seen a fraction of him?"

"I believe so." Dreykov’s tone did not waver. "But every man has a weakness. My Widows have been watching him carefully. He is planning his wedding soon." A thin smile crept across his face. "That is when we strike. We will take the formula for the Immune Protocol while his guard is lowered."

He spread a set of documents across the table. Grainy photographs. Schematics. Handwritten notes. "No one has been able to fully map Aeon Biotech. Something is strange about it. But we know this, the eighteenth floor is restricted solely to Carter. From all the data I’ve gathered, the formula must be there."

Fisk studied the papers with interest. "And you plan to use your Widows?"

"Widows," Dreykov confirmed. "And mercenaries. Enough to extract what we need."

Norman exhaled, tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "Good. Then we—"

The words died in his throat.

A sudden shimmer of light rippled above the table. In the blink of an eye, a figure collapsed onto the polished wood—naked, skin tinted purple, eyes wild.

The three men shot to their feet, guns instantly drawn and aimed at the intruder.

The man threw back his head and screamed, voice hoarse yet defiant, "@$#%! I’m the @$%& that will %$@* your wives, your daughters—hell, I already @#%$ your mothers till they begged me to be their daddy! Remember the name—Killgrave!"

The chamber exploded in chaos.

BANG. BANG.

Gunfire tore through his legs and arms. Killgrave shrieked, tumbling off the table, blood splattering the oak. He writhed on the ground, clutching his limbs as tears of pain streamed down his face.

Kilgrave remained eerily calm at first. For two long years within his nightmare dream state, he had grown accustomed to one certainty: whenever real danger neared, his body would instinctively break free, propelled by the supernatural speed, courtesy of Carter. But now... nothing happened. No surge of power. No rush of speed. Instead, he felt hollow, fragile—his body weakened to the point where even standing seemed a burden. The realization struck like ice in his veins.

"This... this isn’t right!" he gasped between sobs. "This isn’t how it’s supposed to happen! I—I should be able to—run—escape!" His voice cracked, horror dawning. "Why do I feel weaker than a normal man?!"

Fisk loomed over him, wiping blood from his face as he cracked his fist into his palm. His glare was murderous. "Before I kill you, answer me this, how did you get in here? Who sent you?"

Killgrave only spat blood, hurling more curses in broken gasps. "@$#! You fat pig—I’ll @%#* your—"

CRACK.

Fisk’s fist collided with his jaw, sending blood spraying across the floor. He didn’t stop. Again and again, his fists pounded the purple man, each blow fueled by rage and suspicion.

Dreykov finally spoke, "He says nothing. Perhaps he knows nothing." His cold gaze slid toward Norman. "But didn’t you want a volunteer for your little experiments, Osborn? Fate has delivered one."

Norman’s lips curled into a slow, malicious smile. Fisk’s own grin wasn’t far behind.

On the floor, Killgrave’s wide, terrified eyes rolled back as he slipped into unconsciousness. Blood pooled beneath him.

The three men shared a look—one of unspoken understanding.

A gift had been delivered to their table—uninvited, unexplained. But they weren’t the kind to let such mysteries sit untouched. They would unwrap it, piece by piece, tear through the layers if they had to, until the sender was exposed. Even if it meant breaking the gift itself apart, the truth behind it would be revealed.

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The evening air was cool, carrying the faint hum of the city below. From the seventeenth-floor balcony of Aeon Biotech, the world stretched out like a sea of lights—cars weaving through glowing streets, skyscrapers shimmering against the velvet sky.

Ethan stood with Susan at his side, their fingers brushing the rail. Neither spoke at first. The silence between them wasn’t heavy, but thoughtful—two hearts wrestling with truths they couldn’t ignore.

"Ethan," she murmured, her voice softer than the wind, "is Chloe going to be alright?"

He didn’t answer immediately. His jaw tightened, eyes narrowing at some unseen memory. Finally, he exhaled, heavy with exhaustion. "I wiped away what Killgrave did to her. Used chronokinesis to reverse the damage on her... to undo his violation. She won’t remember a thing. Not his voice. Not his touch. Not the terror. And I made sure no one else remembers what she said he did to her under his control. The nightmare is gone for her."

Susan turned her face toward him, her lips parting as though to speak, but no words came. She only looked at him—long, searching, as if trying to see through him.

Ethan finally met her gaze before exhaling. "Don’t look at me like that, Susan. I know I’m no saint. But I couldn’t let Chloe carry that weight. She’s too good, too kindhearted. If she remembered, it would’ve broken her completely. So yes, I erased it. Even if that disappoints you—"

He stopped mid-sentence because Susan’s arms wrapped around him in a sudden, fierce hug. His words fell away as her warmth pressed against him.

For a moment, Ethan just stood there, caught off guard—before his arms found her waist and pulled her close. "I wasn’t expecting that," he murmured.

She tilted her face up to his, kissed his cheek, and whispered with a soft smile. "Sometimes your powers scare me, Ethan. But sometimes... they make me feel safe. Relieved. What you did for Chloe—it wasn’t manipulation. It was mercy. If you hadn’t erased that nightmare, she might never have recovered. And that’s not a fate she deserved."

Ethan’s lips quirked faintly. "I never thought I’d hear the Susan Storm say something like that."

Her lips curved into a small, teasing smile. "Well, maybe it’s your fault. You’re corrupting me."

"Guilty as charged," he replied with a laugh, lowering his forehead against hers. "I’ll take full responsibility."

And with that, he kissed her.

The world below them vanished. Susan melted into his arms, her lips parting under his. This—this was what she wanted. A man who burned with passion, who carried kindness in his heart but rage against those who harmed others. A man who loved her fiercely, and whom she could love without fear.

His phone buzzed on his inside pocket but neither moved.

Ethan’s tongue slid against hers, claiming her with slow intensity. She gasped softly, her mind flashing with a reminder. "Y-you’re... still under punishment," she breathed between kisses.

"Not from you," he whispered back, his lips brushing hers. "You weren’t part of that deal. It doesn’t apply to you."

Her arms wrapped tighter around his neck, pulling him in as their mouths met again. Desire burned brighter.

"Well, someone’s excited," Ethan teased, his hand slipping lower, cupping her ass firmly.

Susan let out a soft moan, her eyes half-lidded. "And whose fault is that?"

The phone rang again—insistent, unwelcome.

She reluctantly pulled back, breathing hard, her cheeks flushed. "You... should take that."

Ethan groaned, forehead pressed against hers. "Damn timing. I was this close to crossing the line with you." He reached for the phone, scowling as he saw an unknown number flash across the screen.

He answered, his voice sharp. "What?"

A familiar, sultry voice purred back. "Doing something naughty with your girlfriends, Ethan? Took you long enough to pick up."

His irritation faded into a smirk. He leaned against the balcony rail, letting his voice drop into a playful challenge. "Why don’t you come here and find out for yourself, Nat? You can even join the fun if you’re brave enough."

Susan raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms, though her lips curved with restrained amusement.

Natasha chuckled through the line. "Tempting. But duty calls. I’m on assignment. And since someone’s been ghosting Fury, I’m the only one who can reach you right now."

Ethan straightened, the humor fading from his expression. "What does he want?"

"Something unexpected happened on Coulson’s mission," Natasha replied. Her tone was serious now. "Fury wants your help. He thinks it’s... unusual. Possibly magic. And as far as we know, you’re the best one we’ve got for handling mystical incidents. We don’t want another Selene situation."

Unlike in the MCU, the S.H.I.E.L.D. of this world had already come into contact with magic—ever since Selene’s rampage a few years ago. That encounter had left its mark, and now they took precautions against beings capable of wielding such power.

"Location?" he asked flatly.

"Puente Antiguo. New Mexico."

He recalled the original timeline and realized the next great arc was Thor’s. The thought made his eyes narrow with interest—this was one story he didn’t want to simply observe, but actively take part in.

Ethan hesitated only a breath before saying, "I’ll be there." He hung up without ceremony.

Susan stepped closer and her eyes narrowing slightly. "Who was that? And tell me honestly—will she be another one of your women?"

He turned, cupping her cheek with one hand, his eyes softer now. "No woman could move my heart like you do, Susan."

"What about the others in your life? Don’t you love them too?"

A faint smile curved his lips as he leaned closer, his tone like velvet. "The stars never compete with one another, Sue. Each constellation has its place in the vast cosmos, bound by gravity and time to draw patterns only it was meant to shape. You are the same for me. In the galaxy of my heart, you are not brighter or dimmer than another—you are singular, irreplaceable, uniquely defined by your own orbit. A light so distinct, I could never confuse it with any other."

She arched a brow, clearly impressed, then pulled him into a passionate kiss. When she finally drew back, her lips curved in a teasing smile. "You always know exactly how to sweet-talk me," she whispered against his mouth.

A smile tugged at his lips, and he leaned in close, whispering a quiet verse—a line of poetry about her being his north star in a sky of fleeting lights, the only one he’d never lose his way without.

Susan Storm was left speechless. She knew there were other women he liked and even going to marry two of them, yet here he was—shamelessly trying to woo her like this. But what could she do? She had already fallen into his wicked hands.

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Author’s Note:

So, how did you guys like this Chapter?

Also, what are your thoughts on the punishment Killgrave received? Do you think it was fair, too harsh, or not nearly enough for everything he’s done?